


What Is One More?

by inkand_paper (Fabuest)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Depression, Gen, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabuest/pseuds/inkand_paper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Look at the tags and warnings, <em>please</em>. This is not a happy fic.</p>
    </blockquote>





	What Is One More?

**Author's Note:**

> Look at the tags and warnings, _please_. This is not a happy fic.

"Ironhide..."  
  
Optimus Prime laid a hand on his closest friend's shoulder, optics shuttering with grief. He had no more words; there was nothing he could say. Just as well, because Ironhide couldn't hear him. Not anymore.  
  
Ironhide's was not the only greyed-out frame laid out on the medbay berths. Cliffjumper was there too, blank optics staring out from a face twisted into a snarl, his final expression. And Skydive. He was so young, and he had been showing such promise as an aerial tactician under Prowl's tutelage. His death would shatter the Aerialbot gestalt.  
  
The Prime's vents rattled. He struggled to hold back the electronic keen of grief and sorrow that fought to tear from his vocaliser. He must be strong, he must--he must be the Autobots' pillar, their guide, their leader. They had followed him into this war, and he must--they had followed him. He had done this.  
  
"I can hear you blaming yourself from here." Ratchet's voice cut through the haze of despair that threatened to settle over his processor. The medic crossed from his office to the back of the medbay where Optimus stood, the steady _clank_ of his footfalls somehow soothing.  
  
"You shouldn't be here," Ratchet said softly when he reached him. "Go and rest, Optimus. You know he wouldn't want you to tear yourself up over this."  
  
Optimus brought his optics back online; his visual feed seemed grainy, blurred. "How can I not?" he asked quietly, turning his helm to face the mech he had forced time and again to face the fear that he could not save them all. How Ratchet could still count him as a friend, Optimus would never understand.  
  
"Optimus, listen to me. Every mech who has ever taken on the Autobot symbol and gone out to fight against the Decepticons has known the risk, and accepted it. We are not sparklings; we make our own choices. I know for a fact that Ironhide and Cliffjumper never regretted their decision, not for a nanoklik."  
  
"And Skydive?" Optimus challenged. "He _is_ a sparkling, he and all his brothers. They never had a choice."  
  
"The Aerialbots made their choice the same as the rest of us," Ratchet argued. "They went to the Decepticons once. They came back."  
  
Optimus sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Perhaps you are right, my friend," he said. The burden of responsibility he had carried so heavily for so many hundreds of vorns seemed momentarily lifted by Ratchet's words. It would be back, he knew, but he was grateful for Ratchet's effort, as he had been many times before.  
  
The medic snorted. "You know damn well I'm right. Now get out of here and get some recharge. The dead are patient; they can wait."  
  
\---  
  
He couldn't recharge. The dead haunted him; he could feel their presence hovering at the edge of the Matrix, accusing him. Not just the three they had lost today, the first Autobots to die since they had awakened on Earth. There were millions of them--hundreds of millions--Autobots and Decepticons both, sparks all extinguished by this war that he had started and could not end.  
  
Optimus stood from his berth, paced a few steps across the floor. He stopped; he didn't know where he was going. His fists clenched so tight the struts and tension cables threatened to snap, and he sank to his knees. He buried his face in his hands, choked on a sob.  
  
So many dead.  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispered, though the ghosts could not hear him. "I'm so sorry."  
  
\---  
  
Optimus was sure that telling the Aerialbots would be the hardest thing he would ever do. Every death, every condolence was harder than the last, it had always been that way, but this was different. They were so young--hardly more than four orn--and he wasn't sure they even truly understood what death was.  
  
When he arrived at the hangar which had been converted into their quarters, though, he faltered, and not for the reason he had expected. The Aerialbots were huddled together in their commonroom. Silverbolt's gaze was hollow, and Fireflight was trembling. Slingshot and Air Raid both looked hurt and angry and afraid, and their expressions pulled painfully at his spark.  
  
They already knew.  
  
"You came to tell us about Skydive," Silverbolt said. His voice was eerily calm, and he did not look up.  
  
"Yes," he said. "I am sorry." It was pitifully inadequate.  
  
\---  
  
"Optimus." Elita-1 greeted him with a pleasant smile over the video connection with Cybertron. When she took in the sorrowed tint of his optics, her smile faded. "What happened?"  
  
"I need to speak to Chromia."  
  
Elita opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. After a moment, she said simply, "Of course."  
  
When Chromia's face appeared on the screen, Optimus knew he had been wrong. It had not been telling the Aerialbots that would be hardest.  
  
\---  
  
Enough. This had to end. After offering his condolences to Cliffjumper's pace, he had withdrawn to his own quarters and given in to the grief and despair that had been eating at him since he had first seen the three frames in the medbay, and for far longer than that. Never had he been so glad that his rooms had long since been soundproofed.  
  
His spark felt still and calm after the private outpouring of emotion, and it was all too easy to form his resolve. The war was over; it could not continue. There were too many dead, too few left alive, and nothing left to fight over but old injuries.  
  
Megatron answered his comm call within nanokliks of making the connection. « How good to hear from you, Prime. Tell me, is it true that my Seekers finally put down the cannon-humper and his minibot pet? »  
  
Optimus' optics shuttered as a wave of grief rolled over him again. Of course Megatron would gloat. « It is true that Ironhide and Cliffjumper are dead, » he gritted out. « They also killed the sparkling Skydive. »  
  
Megatron laughed. « And I suppose you are calling to vow you will have your revenge? »  
  
« No, » Optimus replied. His next words rolled slowly from his vocaliser, as if he was tasting them as they crossed his lips. « The Autobots will surrender. Meet me at these co-ordinates, four joor from now, and bring Soundwave. We will discuss the terms. » The taste was distinctly bitter.  
  
« Planning an ambush, Prime? How unlike you. »  
  
« There will be no ambush, » Optimus promised. « I will be alone. »  
  
There was a short pause from Megatron's end. Then he seemed to accept what Optimus was saying. « Very well. Soundwave and I will be there. »  
  
\---  
  
Megatron did not waste a moment when he and Soundwave landed at Optimus' chosen meeting place. "What are your terms, then, Prime?" he asked without preamble. His smile was vicious.  
  
"These are the conditions of the Autobots' surrender:" Optimus said. His spark still felt calm, but it grew heavy as he spoke. "No Autobots are to be harmed at Decepticon hands. Let this end the war; there has been enough energon shed, enough lives lost. There will be no trials. Autobot and Decepticon, we are all war criminals."  
  
Megatron's expression slowly changed from gloatingly victorious to thoughtful. "You are serious about this."  
  
Optimus squared his shoulders and lifted his chin just a fraction. "I am," he confirmed. "Our war has gone on far too long."  
  
"And Soundwave is here..."  
  
"To bear witness. Loyal to you he may be, but he is not dishonest. His testimony will serve as proof of our... fair dealings."  
  
Megatron paused, his lips drawing into a frown. For a moment he looked like he might ask a question, but then he shook his head. "Very well. Are there more terms to your surrender?"  
  
"Prowl will lead the peace negotiations on the Autobots' behalf. I trust that with his aid you will settle on an agreement and create a new society--one which does not benefit the few, but the many. These are the terms. Do you accept them?"  
  
"You realise, Prime, that this is not surrender. It is suing for peace."  
  
"Call it what you will," Optimus said. "It is an end to our war. Do you accept the terms?"  
  
"Your terms are... acceptable," Megatron allowed. "I will agree to them."  
  
Tension bled from Optimus' cables, and he sighed as he let his formal posture slip. What did it matter now if his enemy saw how weary he was and thought him weak? He _was_ weak. But his Autobots were safe. "Good. Megatron--thank you."  
  
Megatron smirked. "Don't thank me yet, Prime. There are still the negotiations."  
  
"Yes. Of course." Prowl would take care of the negotiations--take care of the Autobots. The weight on the Prime's spark lifted, lessened. His chest still burned where he had torn out the Matrix, but he could no longer hear the whispers of extinguished sparks. Feeling lighter than he had in vorns, he let the knife slip into his hand from subspace.  
  
Megatron did not miss the motion, and his optics narrowed, then blazed. He lifted his cannon in a moment, charge already building. "What is the meaning of this, Prime?" he snarled.  
  
Optimus' face mask retracted, and he smiled at his long-time foe as his chest plates parted. There was an empty space where there should not have been, wires and cables that had connected him to the Matrix and integrated it slowly into his systems dangling free and staining his internal components with energon.  
  
"So many have died. What is one more?" he asked, raising the blade to the main energy conduit fuelling his frame and spark. "Make sure I am the last."  
  
Megatron's optics widened with shock and he stepped forward, reaching out, but if he meant to stop Optimus, it was too late. The blade was sharp, with a laser edge fuelled by energon, and it cut deeply into the conduit before breaking through on the other side; one movement, one slice, and it was severed. Optimus still smiled as his optics flickered, then cut out, and he fell.


End file.
